Breaking Out Of the Bronx: A Look Back; A Pioneering Dancer Is the Last of His Breed

They started out as street kids. The dancing kept them mostly on the right side of the law.

They came from the Bronx, but the backspin took them to the capitals of Europe, where they performed for presidents and queens. They danced at the Kennedy Center and at Lincoln Center. They appeared on the Jerry Lewis telethon two years in a row.

The Rock Steady Crew moved break dancing off the curb and into the mainstream when it was founded in 1977, but passing time has slowly pulled the crew apart. In 25 years, all but one of its founding members have retired. They have taken off their Pro-Keds, one by one.

Jimmy Lee is doing life in prison. Easy Mike has moved to Colorado, and he never comes around. JoJo cooks hot dogs for minor-league hockey fans in Elmira, N.Y. As for Jimmy D., he has simply vanished from the earth. The street took some, the world of 9 to 5 took others and, now, only Crazy Legs is left. While the crew remains today, he is the only original still around.

''I'm the last of the Mohicans,'' he said.

Crazy Legs is busy -- busier than ever -- jetting off to Tokyo to promote a line of clothing or to Britain to preside at the country's largest break dance competition as a judge. He is teaching, dancing and making sure he does not agitate his herniated disks. At 36, even a seasoned breaker must take care.

Sometimes, though, when he leaves his home in Jersey City and wanders through the Bronx, the memories go with him: the time, at 9, when he saw his older brother breaking on the sidewalk and could not understand why he was flailing on the ground; the time he challenged Jimmy D. and JoJo down at Mom and Pop's, an illegal South Bronx disco, and was beaten on the dance floor but asked to join the crew.

''We had the best show in the neighborhood,'' said Crazy Legs, whose real name is Richard Colón. ''We did. We had the moves.''

The neighborhood was Morris Park, where salsa music might be pouring from a basement filled with strobe lights and a crazy uncle might be singing in Spanish at the top of his lungs. A dozen strangers might be dancing the bus stop in the living room, while upstairs, Crazy Legs was wide awake because his bedroom was the coat check every night. This was the 1970's, and the older generation danced to James Brown and Sly and the Family Stone while the kids sneaked off to perfect their windmills or their handspins in the park.

''Our parents came out of the whole civil rights movement,'' Crazy Legs said. ''Out of an era that didn't allow them self-expression. When we danced to the music, it represented struggle. We danced to express ourselves.''

The expression -- the style of it -- was a mix of rhythm and blues, Bruce Lee movies, poverty and summer heat. It was what you did because you could not afford boxing lessons or Little League gear. You did it on the blacktop near a fire hydrant with a crowd of street gangs and bikers looking on.

The dancing was a subculture, and it had its sacred places. There was St. Martin of Tours Roman Catholic Church in Crotona, where Father Jacob, the hip-hop priest, sponsored break dance nights each week. There was the asphalt park at Public School 129, where groups like the Furious Five and the Cold Crush Brothers played their music loud and danced.

A park jam meant a battle, and a battle meant that crews would dance to win bragging rights and shirts. It was just like the Kung-Fu movies Crazy Legs would watch back then: Your style is good, young man. But your style can't beat mine.

Rock Steady emerged from this cauldron to become the premier break dance group in New York. In 1981, they performed at Lincoln Center and were written about in The Daily News and National Geographic World. Two years later, they flew to Paris then on to London, invited by Queen Elizabeth herself. It was heady stuff for youngsters from the Bronx, who would hear England and think of English muffins and were more accustomed to French fries than French people.

Crazy Legs signed his first autograph around that time and still remembers it today. He was standing on a beach in Waikiki, Honolulu, and a white suburban guy came at him with a pen.

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''He said he'd seen me on TV,'' Crazy Legs said, ''and I was like, 'Wow, we're a thousand miles from home and this guy knows my face.' ''

The success was intoxicating -- and a bit too much. Already, the crew was starting to disperse. Sometimes it was crime, sometimes a woman. Jimmy Lee shot a man and wound up doing life. Easy Mike went off to California, where he started to follow progressive rock. Now, he is living in Colorado. His girlfriend wears black lipstick and shaves her head completely bald.

JoJo, Easy Mike's brother, has not seen him in at least eight years. Then again, JoJo -- whose real name is Santiago Torres -- has a new life of his own. He is a cook at a minor-league hockey arena near the Finger Lakes in Elmira. A few times each week, he teaches a break dance class to children at the local Y.M.C.A.

When JoJo talks about the old days, there is wistfulness and pride. He no longer lives the dancing life, but he is still annoyed at how the dance form has evolved.

He has particular scorn for the movie, ''Breakin,'' which introduced break dancing to the masses when it came out back in 1984.

''They took our names and our moves,'' he said in a telephone interview, ''but they were just a bunch of clowns in muscle shirts. Different color rainbow shirts on.'' You could hear grunt and sniff. ''In the city, that was target practice.''

Elmira is a long way from the Bronx, and there are not too many break dancers on the street. But JoJo is doing what he can, he said, ''to bring that flavor up to western New York.'' Still, it is all about his children now. He has four. The youngest is 9, the oldest 16. ''I miss it,'' he admitted, ''but where I'm at is nice. I think about going back, but just not yet. I'm a single father now.''

If he goes back, he might receive the welcome Crazy Legs got when he pulled up in front of his old house at 1669 Garfield Street earlier this month. His method of arrival captured his station in life these days. He drove a bright gold sport utility vehicle with his 5-year-old son, Richie, strapped in a car seat in the back.

Chris Harrison, 32, was sitting on the stoop. When Crazy Legs stepped out of the car, Chris's eyes exploded and he clutched at the back of his head.

Suddenly, there were oohs and ahs and handshakes and a few more neighbors came outside to join them on the steps. It was a pleasure, it was a miracle, they said. Then Mr. Harrison announced: ''Step back, step back! Crazy Legs about to bust a move.'' Which he did.

When it was over, Crazy Legs signed autographs, making sure to write ''1669,'' (for his old address) above his name. He seemed embarrassed, shy, a little overwhelmed. ''It's cool,'' he said. ''But in the end, I'm just a Bronx boy, trying to do my thing.''

With that, he buckled Richie back in the car seat. Then he hit the ignition and drove off, looking for a Mister Softee truck.

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A version of this article appears in print on August 27, 2002, on Page B00001 of the National edition with the headline: Breaking Out Of the Bronx: A Look Back; A Pioneering Dancer Is the Last of His Breed. Order Reprints|Today's Paper|Subscribe